Seven Days
by Record Cover
Summary: CANONRikku Gippal, post FFX. Part 1/?: He's an outcast; alone, hungry, and on the run. And that's when he meets her.


**Seven Days  
Record Cover**

* * *

Monday.  
He'd been on the run from the law for weeks now, and had just arrived back on his homeland, Bikanel Island. One, almond shaped, jade green eye scanned the horizon as little beads of sweat dripped down the end of the long nose set in perfect symmetry on a tanned, high cheeked face. There was no one on the Island. Or, at least it seemed that way. There hadn't been anyone at the Oasis, no one at the shelters and not so much as the low rumbling sound of a distant hovers' engine. Where was everyone?  
He'd heard rumours, but he didn't want to believe them, because they were lies Yevon was making up to clear something else away, just more lies to hide the truth. He'd heard the Lady Yuna had conquered Sin, too, but he didn't know, hadn't talked to anyone about it, wasn't sure… Maybe he just didn't see any people because there'd been a sandstorm, or an outbreak of fiends, or maybe the Cactuars had gone into revolt, or.. Or…  
Somewhere inside, his heart was pounding with the sort of sheer fury and apprehension that only came to one when they were waiting for their closest, dearest friends to make it out alive when they were hurt, yearning for some sort of news, any, news, that would tell them that the others would be alright. A dull, stabbing ache pulsed in his chest and he rubbed it gingerly, wincing when the bandages felt dirty and stained to the touch under calloused fingertips.  
The sun was setting, and his water supply was slowly diminishing. Now, if he could only find a couple of signs that pointed the way towards Home…

On Tuesday he awoke early, before the sun had risen completely. What little desert blooms were still alive had retained some tiny amounts of moisture, and he sucked the petals dry, not wanting to waste a single drop. They tasted a little sweet, a little bitter, but mostly, it was just condensation.  
He thought about catching a fiend or two; his stomach starting to growl a little with hunger, but he wasn't too keen on having _fiend_ for dinner so he left it. He'd been through longer without food and made it out alright. Then, before it got too hot, he gathered his few possessions and left to find his way.  
Judging by the sun, he'd need to follow it for a few days before he reached the Cactuar Village, and from there he'd travel north until he found Home. He'd done it before, how hard could it be?  
The bandages Rin had wrapped around his chest were starting to itch, and by nightfall he was resisting the urge with great difficulty to just tear them off and throw them away; but he knew better. The wound needed to heal and if it got covered in sweat and sand and dust it'd only infect, and that would've been when the real trouble started. So he drifted off into an uneasy sleep underneath a makeshift shelter of scattered debris and scrap metal he'd been able to find lying around in the sun instead.

Later he remembered his parents as he continued to trudge through the sand, covered in dirt and grime. What would they say now, had they been alive to witness what he'd gone through? Hell's fire and back. What would his brothers and sisters say? Were they safe? Where were they now? Did they even know he was running from Yevon? His throat was parched with thirst. He drank a little more. And bit by bit, his bottles emptied.  
Six children had lost their parents the day Sin had decided to strike Bikanel.  
His father had always been the commanding type, the leader. Tall, broad and strong. His brothers had been that way too, but he, youngest of four boys had been the slimmer, more _suave_ one, he'd liked to describe it- his brothers had been tall and stocky. His mother had been slim and willowy; he supposed that was from where he'd inherited his lack of _grit_, as his father liked to put it. He spat bitterly on the ground just as a gust of wind blew sand into his face; it stung. He'd never gotten along with his father. Did he regret it? Possibly.  
Then he remembered his sisters, two of them. They'd been beautiful like their mother had been, sun bleached blonde hair tied back in braids and feathers, little crimson coloured flowers woven into them as the threads of gold glinted in the sun. And he wondered, wondered where they all were.  
That was Wednesday.

The week was almost over.  
Thursday.  
By then he didn't know where he was. He was lost. He should have been able to see the Cactuars in the distance, but he could see none; had stumbled across nothing but a couple of sand wolves, not even seen the slightest hint of green. It was impossible, Cactuars should have been harassing him with their needles every other second, but he saw none. Even worse, no hovers. No people. No workers. Nothing.  
He was exhausted. His water- not enough left to last the day. His stomach churned with hunger; he'd been five days without food.  
The same day he was attacked by a pack of sand wolves. They bared their teeth and snarled as drops of saliva went flying, gnawing at his shins and pulling off his pockets. And he let out a cry of fear, a desperate cry, because a pack of wolves wouldn't have so much as scratched him, but he was weak; weak, scared, hungry, thirsty, _worried_. By the time the wolves had left, his weapons weren't his only possessions broken.  
His pride was shattered, his hopes extinguished, his body battered and bruised. And they'd messed his _fucking water bottle_. By nightfall he'd given everything up miserably and collapsed helplessly under another shelter he'd found. Upon looking into the chests looking for some pain medication, he'd found there was none, swore, for the wound in his chest was suddenly throbbing again for some reason and it when such pain was evident he couldn't think, couldn't concentrate on anything but the thrumming pulse of rushing blood through damaged veins- so he gave up.  
Maybe he'd just been so delirious, but, somewhere, in the distance, he thought he could hear the sound of an engine, too far away, but maybe, just a little hint of life…  
Before his eye rolled up into his head he thought he had dreamed someone had arrived at his side and was prodding him and poking and asking stupid questions, so he shouted, his speech heavily slurred, and rolled right over to slump in the darkness, alone, again.

Friday. He woke with a start as he felt cool drops of liquid trickle down his throat; he sat up; gagged heavily; blinked. The first thing he noticed about his body that it's fatigue seemed strangely, uncannily, absent, but the wound in his chest hadn't stopped throbbing with pain. In fact, it felt almost… open. Then he let out a panicked yell as he saw that his shirt, boots and bandages had been removed; _what the fuck_; how had that happened; was someone here? Anyone? His long arms and legs flailed around hysterically and he couldn't see for some reason a blind terror had risen and nothing but blurry shapes and outlines were visible. Then something hit him around the head and it felt as if someone had smashed a bell right into his ears; his ear drums shook and stars erupted around his eyes. He let out another howl of pain, because he didn't know what was happening and was that more liquid trickling down his throat? Harsh fingers grabbed at his jaw and forced his mouth open, the liquid burning, but cool and soothing at the same time, bitter, with a shocking aftertaste, he recognised this, it was a potion, a sleep-inducing potion and- _fuck!_ For the second time in two days he fainted.  
At twilight, he drifted back into consciousness and a pair of two hands hit him sharply in the back. He coughed, gagged, rolled over and promptly threw up.  
Someone forced more potion roughly down his throat, the fucking twat, hitting him in the back when he'd been shot and the gun wound hadn't healed properly yet, he was going to castrate the dickhead when he was well enough, but then the hands pushed him down onto something that felt like a mat, and he opened his eye blearily.  
He had expected to smell oil and sweat, not flowers and honey, had expected to see suspenders and belts and goggles, but instead saw a bright orange top moulded over swelling breasts, enticingly slim hips and two astonishingly bright green eyes. A girl, he thought. And shivered.  
A soft blanket was wrapped around him and when he felt a fever set in he started to sweat like mad and freeze with cold at the same time, so he was grateful when that small, warm body slid in underneath the blanket and pressed itself close.

The next day- Saturday, he woke first and sat up. The girl was sleeping, long eyelashes fanned over round cheeks, blonde hair falling apart in a messy topknot. A pair of sweet pink lips and a cute nose, what was a girl doing, alone, out in the desert? And how had she found him? She'd healed him, too, he thought, as his fingers glided over the wound in his chest, no longer open. It still stung a little, he winced. She wasn't a mage, but she'd known her basic curative magic and improved the healing Rin had done previously.  
He ventured outside, spotted two hovers. Two? But there was only him, and her. Where had the second hover come from? Al Bhed. She was Al Bhed. Someone- one of _him_.  
She woke not long after, came next to him and squatted next to the hover where he was kneeling. She went to the trunk and pulled out bottles of water, tossed him one and twisted the cap off of the other and drank it. He followed suit, and their eyes locked. She was pretty, he thought. But who was she? Where had she come from? Where was she going? And did she know anything of the strange absence of people in the desert? She was still looking straight into his eyes, her face devoid of any expression.  
"Thanks," Was all that would come out of his mouth. His eye flickered over her figure. Slim, mildly curvy, long, lean legs. She looked no more than his age, sixteen, a girl clumsily on the borderline of womanhood. Not hot, he thought. But cute. Pretty enough.  
"It's okay," She replied. Her voice didn't surprise him. It was kinda girly, but it sounded determined. "I healed your chest," She pointed to his torso, still devoid of the shirt. "And I've put a few potions in your pockets," Sure enough, he felt them, in his pockets. Then she rose and walked over to one of the hovers, leaving him still sitting next to the first. "You know how to ride a hover, right?"  
He nodded back at her, thoroughly confused and feeling very hot as the sun shone down, hard, on his sweating back.  
"Home's not around anymore," She said in a small, hard voice, as if she were bottling her emotions within her for fear of losing control should she let them loose. "It was destroyed by the Guado."  
A hollow, sick feeling immediately spread through his stomach and it lurched violently as an unexpected wave of nausea hit him; he held back. "Don't worry," She said, something behind her swirly green eyes flickering. "Everyone's safe. There are three camps, one North, East and West if you need to find the rest of us, not so far away. Most of the families are at the east camp. Here," She tossed him a compass and he caught sight, a flash of yellow, yellow nail polish. The splash of vivid colour she provided seemed to hearten an otherwise bleak scene.  
"I'll leave you now," She fluttered her fingers, then the sound of an engine revving roared into life, a cloud of dust and sand, and she was gone. She hadn't even offered to take him back. Perhaps she didn't trust him- but then- why had she helped him, healed him, fed him water? How had she known that he hadn't received news of Homes destruction? Who _was _she?  
When the wind started to blow he finally gathered his wits- questions burst like wildfire in his head and he was itching, bursting to know what had happened to Home, to find his family because it didn't shock him, nothing really did, not now, and so he jumped onto the hover and twisted the key forcefully; it leapt into ignition as he forgot his hunger. He had questions. And he needed answers. So he glanced at the fading tracks in the sand her hover had left, and although his mind had been whispering _East, Head East, Don't go after her_, to him, he steered the hover around north, and followed.


End file.
